


Arm Shenanigans: Escape Route

by frolicking (flickeringheartbeat)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, kinda angsty for some reason, perhaps reader is still clueless, reader is an engineering student, reader's dry humor is precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickeringheartbeat/pseuds/frolicking
Summary: A deadly assassin happened to break (not in a literal way actually) into your dorm, and you have no other options left but use your knowledge from your course to fix his arm.





	Arm Shenanigans: Escape Route

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Bucky nor Marvel, but my wild imagination can do something.

It was one clear evening in Tuesday when it happened.

 

That night when you almost peed on your pants, fighting the urge to let out any noise—a whimper or stifled breath. Your legs wobbled as you walked to the dormitory after the incident happened and luckily, it’s only the janitor who was present at the lobby. He was clueless of what happened, so you decided to keep it by yourself.

\--

Waking up with dripping sweat on your body reminds you of the nightmare you had few days ago, and you wish that you're gone for good so that you'll finally rest in peace. But of course, it won't happen.

 

You're a senior student in mechanical engineering, focusing your studies in robotics. Although your intelligence reaches just above average, you stay striving hard to achieve your dreams—in lieu of your parents’ hard work too. Your dorm is often at topsy-turvy from the clattered scraps of bolts, nuts and wires at your desk, an unfinished wireless moving printer, and scratches of calculations hoping that one day, your room will finally get the coziest space it deserves.

 

Yes, you really hope so.

 

Since your professors only left your class with bring-home design assignments, you continue working out on your improvised portable printer for your thesis.

 

While fastening the interiors of your device, suddenly an eerie feeling creeps on your back. You don't know why but somehow, it's terrifying. As you get up from your chair to drink water, your eyes widen at such a sight.

 

It's a man with a left bionic arm equipped with a rifle gun, with its anonymity showed upon his eye-gear and mask. You can’t just deny that you had dinner outside the university hours ago, but your body stiffens, and you pass out.

\--

 

You wake up from the sound of crumpled scratch paper beneath your pillow, swiftly hoisting your upper body. "It was a dream, it was a dream, it was a dream," you chant fast in silence, and almost let out a deafening scream when you saw the same man who's now sitting on your chair, facing your work.

 

"вы исправляете вещи. ( _You fix things._ )" He mutters. His voice was deep and clear that you have quickly figure out he's speaking Russian. Russian, Chinese and Latin are the languages you're mostly curious about and you spend your vacant time sometimes at exploring how it should be spoken at any situations.

 

You have no idea what he was talking about and you wish you can understand them. "Russian is cool but I'm not familiar of it, yet." Emphasizing the last word, you take another deep breath to muster up your courage of talking to an assassin. "And assuming that you are... an assassin, I'm begging you not to kill me." You say slowly, anxious of his response.

 

He gets up from your chair to face you. The moment he stands up you know that things are going to screw up. You're going to die from a man who speaks Russian with a hot accent.

 

Out of surprise, you find yourself looking at his eye-gear without any hint of fear. You cannot see how he looks like since it was polarized but you're quite certain he's in late 20's. Both of you stay standing for minutes, and later he gestures upon his metal arm, pointing at its glitches.

 

Just by his body language, you know what he wants. "You...want...me to...fix...this?"

 

He nods. Now, your brain cells are about to lose themselves. You don't know what's the first thing you need to do because it's either: you'll be able to fix his arm and beg him not to return anymore or once you screw up his arm, he'll choke you to death.

 

You could only gulp. _The arm’s physical specifications look complicated, and a sliver of chance for you to survive tonight is killing your sanity._

 

"I'll try to fix this... and once I made it... I hope you won't come back. Please."

 

\--

 

You're almost done fixing the upper part of his arm, finally after a loop of asking him a deal and his uncertain nodding. "I feel like I'm already an expert at comprehending Russian," you mumble between repairing minor fixes before proceeding for the bionic fingers, "although Latin is my most interested language.

 

"Oh right, you can't understand me. Anyway, this is how I work, in case if you're curious." You’re almost done for your job, feeling triumphant of your performance’s good progress. Luckily, the metal arm's specifications are not that complicated as what you highly expected.

 

Looking up to see the guy's face, his head is already resting on his shoulder, a soft snore muffles from his mask.

 

Dang he does look adorable despite from his aura.

 

You assumed that his arm has _literally_ shut down in which he couldn’t move it. After checking and fastening the loose bolts on his fingers you softly pat his right shoulder, mentally asking help for God to send you angels to protect you if he gets wild.

 

Obviously, he's now awake since his posture is erect. You gesture him to create movements on his bionic arm, and when he successfully did, he removes his eye-gear, revealing a beautiful pair of eyes—serene blue eyes. If looks can bury you 5 feet under, then you're buried deeper than it.

 

As his gaze is too magnetizing, you look away from him and thankfully, there's an oversized teal green jacket hung on your lamp table which you can use as a distraction. "Hey, you can use this when you go out in public... um, if... um... you don't want to get suspected by... others?" you let out a nervous laugh as you hand it over to him, wanting to bury yourself alive out from fear and embarrassment.

 

He receives the hoodie and pats your shoulder. Turning around away from him, you hear him mumbling before you could turn back and see just an empty room—you and your things.

 

Undeniably, he’s an assassin. No if’s and but’s.

\--

 

“I can’t believe he made me sound stupid from that one-sided conversation!”

 

The weather is being considerate apart your mood today as you stomp all the way to the museum. You have no idea why but suddenly; your soul was being a cram to get your lazy ass from the dorm to museum.

 

You stop walking while planning where to start. “ _Okay but, you know what… self? I think he must’ve looked… dreamy. Like… woah there, look at his cool eyes—scratch that, he’s terrifying._ ”

 

And there, you found yourself talking inside your mind.

 

It’s already afternoon when you stroll around the museum, with few tourists moping around but close to call it as placid. You first stop by at the science corner, watching in marvel over Howard Stark’s classic inventions. Suddenly the Avengers pops into your mind and you wonder what they are doing right now.

 

For the last stop of your museum visit—Captain America’s exhibit, you bump into someone just as you stepped on the first staircase. As you are about to face the person, you gulp.

 

A tall, built, vile yet ruggedly fine-looking guy looks down at you, and you swear to God you don’t want to go outside again. You slowly raise your arms and wave in apology and run away as fast as you can upstairs. _Yes, you did that which is so dumb for someone who can think critically._ Who knows, he’ll visit Captain America’s corner and you’re going to die at a museum.

 

But that didn’t stop you, either way. You have a huge crush at Steve Rogers although you really like Clint Barton. Someone from your class back in high school told you before about his exhibit at this museum which is why you’re here right now, almost screwing up your day.

 

While watching the big poster of Steve with the comrades he saved, you spot a remarkably familiar guy beside him.

 

James Buchanan Barnes, his best friend. To add some suspense, he looked like that guy you bumped into a couple of minutes ago, though it’s bad to jump in conclusion because you only had a quick glance and scampered away. Well you’re certain about Steve Rogers’s whereabouts and certainly how his best friend looks like, but this—the fact that you just saw a person that really looked like the guy you bumped is too unreal. He died already and there’s no way that it was him.

 

You planned before that your last stop will be at Captain America’s exhibit for you to stay longer while exploring more about his biography and interesting stuffs the museum has offered. Little did you know that for a plan, there are always uncertain events. With that, you want to hide at the weak places where you think he’s not interested to look at.

 

But of course, as the scaredy-cat you are, the thing is: you scurry down to the ground floor and run as fast as you can back to your dorm, never missing any chance to get out from the guy’s sight. _Forget Steve Rogers, I must SAVE MYSELF first._ And yes, you never catch for a taxi cab.

 

As soon as you arrive at your dorm, you throw yourself at the little bed, exhausted from the marathon this afternoon. You’re asleep for three hours.

 

\--

 

You wake up upon greeted by the growing darkness shown from your window. Stiffness keeps your body from getting up on the bed until you switch sides, revealing the same guy from the museum. Seeing his appearance turn your lips pale, aghast. You never jolt like that before you saw his petrifying form.

 

A lot of outcomes have been bumping to your synapses, making you fall and face the ground. Upon hearing his slightest footstep, you shriek. “Stay back!”

 

The sensors you made for your dorm have activated, locking the door and shutting all the lights.

 

Still on the floor, you yell at your sensors. “Great! Now you’re increasing the risk of my death!” and turn the lamp on. The sensors are from your basic programming hands-on exercise back when you were a sophomore.

 

Now it finally makes sense as if you’re about to pick the only missing puzzle piece. Your room’s door may not be locked when you were asleep, but it has a dummy authentication system that once the sensor detects a stranger without any affiliations about you, all electricity-powered device you have in dorm shuts down and turns off, automatically sending an emergency message through an application on your phone so you can monitor your dorm anywhere and anytime you go.

 

In conclusion, that guy might be that one who fixed your broken refrigerator back when you were a junior or the metal arm guy from yesterday.

 

Your legs keep on shaking as you slowly get up. “If you’re someone who went here inside before, say it.”

 

The guy rolls his sleeve upwards, revealing the same metal arm you fixed last night. Your mouth is agape, eyes have widened, and you are frozen in position.

 

“I swear, I’m not going to hurt yo—”

 

“You can speak English?” you ask loudly out of surprise.

 

“Yes?” He answers, pulling his eyebrows up, uncertain about your reaction.

 

“You made me sound stupid last night!” you cry in protest. “Now what? You’ll make me lose my mind about your identity? Go, reveal more about yourself. Or else I am calling the—”

 

Before you could even finish ranting, he swiftly removes his cap and you couldn’t believe at what you’re seeing right now. “Please don’t tell me you are the former Sergeant Barnes.” You whisper. He nods, and you swear to God for the second time that you are so close to faint again. Then again, it hits you.

 

The sense of familiarity once he removed his eye-gear last night has bothered you to sleep. It flashed back again when you were at the museum this afternoon which finally connects the unanswered question to your mind right now. You want to scream because he _was already dead_ , but another part of you is so ready to bombard him with questions that no one has answered.

 

Instead, you let out a dry laugh until it ascends to a usual laughter of yours. “What’s funny?” he asks innocently.

 

You keep on blinking while shaking your head in disbelief. “I don’t know, Mr. Metal Arm guy, but I’m sure my brain needs some rewiring.” You smile awkwardly at him and he tries to step forward.

 

“Ten feet apart from each other please.” You order. He steps back, looking at his sides. “But what about these?”

 

You stand up and fold your arms. “You’re too lucky that my drive has its own back-up archive to store my activities, and your information was there.

 

“I’m not sure why you’re here,” you pause as you close the curtains, “tell me.”

 

He glances at you straight in the eye, a hint of beg evident from his expression. “Help me get out of this country.”

 

“Tch,” you cover your face and motion your hand back and forth to the head, “for an assassin like you who wants to get a help from someone else he barely knows, are you sure that you’re doing the right thing?”

 

“I am, because you’re nice.” He simply replies, now sitting with his legs crossed and back rested on the door.

 

“You know, I don’t talk to strangers.” You walk towards your working table, picking up the small screws scattered. “Especially those who can kill.”

 

You’re unaware that he’s looking at you. “That wasn’t me.” He simply asserts. That confuses you for a bit, making you turn to face him. “What? Well, okay? But, say if you’re being honest right now, then who was that? A bad omen possessed in your body?”

 

“The winter soldier.”

 

From his answer, your mind has a momentarily pause as if those words have already come out from someone’s mouth before.

 

And…so it _does_.  “Tell me honestly, have you killed someone five years ago?”

 

“I guess.” He trails off.

 

You clap as you stand up. “Thanks for killing our former professor in nuclear physics, old guy. So, it was you.” You stare at him for a while until he breaks the awkward silence. “It wasn’t me—"

 

“Our professor told that story. Yes, we haven’t seen that nuclear engineer teaching around until our professor told us all the stuffs that he quit teaching and focused at field work and then…you killed him—”

 

“It wasn’t me, I’ll be honest right here—”

 

“So, who killed him?”

 

“The winter soldier.”

 

“Goodness, I can’t believe we’re having this kind of conversation.” You huff, shaking your head in disbelief. “And looking at you right now, I have no idea what I should do in this situation right now. I don’t want to get killed and—”

 

“I know that fear you showed me. Worse is I saw how you almost got groped by an old man in front of your dorm.”

 

That shifted your attention to him quickly. You avoid him talking because you were petrified before but now it seems like guilt fuels your regret of nitpicking towards him. Everything feels like your neurons are in rapid motion of discerning too much information, distinguishing the factual and alibi responses from the winter soldier—James Barnes.

 

You lean at the corner of your bed, having the level of your gaze as similar as his. “He jabbed my head, right?” You ask him carefully since that’s the only thing you could remember.

 

His long hair covers his face, but he doesn’t seem bothered about that. “Yes. That day, a headquarter was destroyed, I knocked out but saved Steve, and left, was looking for a place to stay until I saw you and an old man, and he was about unzip his pants, so I stabbed him and left.” He pauses. He’s about to continue telling the story when you start to cry.

 

You totally have no idea how that happened because firstly, going outside is not your forte and you were supposed to be going into the dorm, secondly, you’re a closeted dummy-inventing engineering student and has no strength to protect yourself, and lastly, you think you’re not attractive.

 

Only then, you realize that rapists are rapists.

 

When you cry for certain times, the situation doesn’t matter to you, even at special occasions. And not even now that a stranger—who happens to be a deadly assassin that saved your life days ago, is looking at you in pity. It took a while to calm yourself and after that, you go to the bathroom and wash your face.

 

“Go and sit on my study chair. I don’t want you to look homeless.” You yell from your bathroom and he smile as he gets up and props himself on your extra chair. You walk out from the bathroom wearing your favorite _E=mc 2_ enclosed in lightbulb shirt and sweatpants.

 

You drag the extra chair to your study table, setting the scraps aside. “Place your metal arm at the desk.”

 

He follows. “But you fixed it already.” He asks, obviously confused. Only then, you panicked after seeing him wearing a long-sleeve shirt, rummaging on your other table to find for scissors. It’s going to be a rough night if you’re not quick for alternative solutions and he takes his top off. _Just don’t._

 

Luckily, you found your scissor. “Hey, can I trim the left sleeve?” You ask. He seems to understand since he nodded without any doubt.

 

“Your bionic arm has weird algorithms,” you lean to its upper part as you attach few wirings on it, “and I’m trying to diagnose the bad things your arm has catered.” He looks adamant when you started plugging the wires, so you try to comfort him. “It won’t hurt you.” You wear baller-bands and switch on your computer. “You can feel the slight tingle on your arm, but it won’t hurt you since they have small voltage.” You add. Much to your luck, you don’t have any idea of how much he has suffered.

 

You opened the program to start the diagnostics already. The last time you did to his arm was only fastening the loose fine screws on his arm and did few basic reprograms since you’re afraid it will screw him up once you add a bug to it. Barnes is watching the fast roll of codes while you were busy fiddling your hands and biting your nails, anxious.

 

“Steve does that stuff before.”

 

“The programming?”

 

“Hell no, I mean he does annoying moves with his hands.”

 

You deadass look at him with unreadable expression. “Oh. I do this when I’m anxious.” The scan is done, and you read the results. Your hopes for helping him has crushed, leaving you no other choice. “Hey sarge—”

 

“Bucky.” He cuts off. “You can call me Bucky.”

 

Although you know that he’s Bucky, you don’t feel calling him that name since you’re not even close friends with him. You smile for a little and scratch your head. “So Bucky, I know this is the least thing I can owe you from saving me, but…” you trail off, not wanting to look at him disappointed, “this arm was programmed on you for a high-caliber weaponry skills and…um, it flexes and has its self-protection system when you do arm combats… and whatever it is so…”

 

You don’t know how to say it. It’s something related to his mind and it has pressured yourself that it reaches to the point where you feel so pressed. You stand up and walk around your room, holding your head. “I want to help you, okay!” You yell. “I’m sorry!”

 

He looks taken aback but manages to keep a constant straight look. “It’s okay,” he says. “remember what I came here for?” He asks.

 

“You said you wanted to escape from this country.” Your mind seems to retract the bottom-line of his arrival here in your dorm, to wake you up at any sense that you really need to stop being so dumb.

 

You laugh; you never laughed as genuine as now for few days, after the incident. Returning to your seat, you’re still laughing, and it made Bucky smile. The wires attached in his bionic arm didn’t even bother him at that moment, if only he didn’t cover his face from the stray strands of his hair.

 

“I never laughed like this before. Sorry I sound so stupid for not knowing the reason why you’re… here in the first place at my dorm.” You detach the wires from his arm. “And uh… I told you so, my baby wires won’t hurt you.”

 

Looking at him with his face partly covered from his face, you wonder how he looks like now—though you know that from the museum, there are certainly some changes from his features. _Admit that he really is painfully attractive too, to be honest_.

 

“Can you…fix those stray strands from your face? I doubt that you aren’t getting tickled by those. If…I’m not being rude.” You politely ask. He ducks his head down to set them aside, and by the time he looks up to you, the world has halted.

 

He is still that young, attractive sergeant you saw from the clips and posters at the museum and pictures from books. Nevertheless, he looks more attractive with his facial hair and longer hair currently. “So, you really are him.” You sound stupid for that but who cares, your synapses are too fast to remind you that you’re staring at him in awe.

 

Second to that, you want to bury yourself twenty feet down after your stomach grumbled. _In the middle of staring._

 

Bucky smiles while you swiftly walk away from him towards your mini-fridge. Fortunately, you bought an extra Chinese take-out food this morning but then you remember that another person is here in your dorm. “Um… I hope you had dinner already because this dorm is not food-friendly for…visitors.” You assert, emphasizing the few last words.

 

“I had.” He briefly answers. You exhaled a sigh of relief from that. You place your take-out beside your laptop and open the browser to book a flight for him. “Now this is the key for you to leave. You can input your credit card number and… oh.”

 

“Why?” He leans in to your computer screen, reading the details. “What do you mean?”

 

“You don’t have credit card, do you?” you ask. He shakes his head sideways. “But I have a passport, and pocket money.” He adds, and hyperbola isn’t enough for you to describe how relieved you are.

 

Smiling from hearing the good news, you stretch your arms to check the cheapest flights. “Where are you escaping to?”

 

“Romania.” He simply answers.

 

“Great. You belong there.” Typing to search for the route’s time schedules, you wait for him to respond from your pun. You were really rooting for him to react even though you know that he was just recovering from his winter soldier persona.

 

Nothing. You steal few glances from him, and he stays stone-cold looking at the window. _You really suck at puns._

 

It took him a while to realize what you said. “That was nice.” And again, you laughed. “I’m really sorry I was pushing you to this stuff,” you apologize between laughs, “I’m really sorry that I barely had some sane thoughts at night.”

 

“No. Really, it was great. But you know what, I’m not a vampire.” He gestures in disagreement.

 

“You do, I guess.” You pause for a moment and continued scrolling through possible early and cheap flights. “Because first, you are physically young but biologically old, no offense. Second, considering you’re an assassin, you must’ve exerted some great force in fighting and whatever it is that counts for your living, and lastly…”

 

He’s pretty interested from your rantings as he waits for you expectantly, raising his brows. “Lastly?”

 

You wear your reading glasses while holding your chopsticks and finally spotted the best time to pick a flight to Romania. “You are criminally seductive,” you smile, gesturing him to look at the laptop’s screen. “Book a flight for five in the morning tomorrow. We’re leaving at ten to four, sarge. I’m sure you’re up at that time. Sleep well.”

 

The papers splattered on your study table is waiting for your attention. As soon as you have arranged the papers, you started working on your bring-home activity until you heard him speak. “I’ll be fine. It’s you who needs decent sleeping hours.”

 

You didn’t mind him. “You need to rest, sarge. Stay fresh for your new life tomorrow. My body clock is severely broken already, and I can patch up at afternoon anyway.”

 

\--

 

Bucky woke up at three-ten in the morning from the loud thump of your wireless mouse on the floor. As soon as he sees you in deep sleep, he tucks you with your peach blanket and watch you peacefully sleeping for few minutes. Later, he takes a bath and prepares for the essential things he needed to leave.

 

After his few errands, you finally wake up, cramming as soon as you saw the time. Your hands are nervously fiddling as you throw your blanket on your bed, revealing Bucky who’s chilling on your futon. “Good morning, Y/N. You don’t have coffee so I prepared a hot chocolate for you. You don’t need to—”

 

You didn’t wait for him to finish speaking as you grab the mug, your wallet and hoodie jacket. Bucky is affected from your frantic actions as he swiftly grabs his bag and you push him outside the door. “You need to book for your flight.” Both of you are rushing outside and you easily spot a taxicab.

As soon as the two of you have got inside, you place the mug in the taxi’s cup holder _and luckily it can hold the mug_ , wearing your hoodie jacket. “To the airport please.”

 

-

Anxiety is eating you up because: Bucky is stealing glances at you from time to time and the hot chocolate is _literally_ hot. The taxi driver turns the radio on, playing a modern soft acoustic song.

 

Few honks are heard at the falling dawn in New York, perfectly matching the mood with the song being played. “You’re sending off your boyfriend?” The taxi driver asks. _Great_.

 

“Nope.” “It is.” You answer in unison.

 

You look at Bucky in mild disappointment, but he couldn’t care. “He isn’t my boyfriend.” You clear up. Looking back at Bucky, he’s already leaning on the window, watching the modern establishments of the city. It was a different persona you’ve seen right now, and you wish he can stay together with you.

 

You’re certain that he was brainwashed based from your observations. The way he interacts the first time you met until the slow progress of his openness to start a conversation that moment when you cried. You figure out he’s such a nice person and is easy to talk with.

 

You’ll probably miss him although you felt the highest obligation to send him off abruptly so he can finally free himself from the nightmare whoever or whatever turned him into for past years. “Hey sarge.”

 

He was zoning out. “Yes? It’s Bucky.”

 

“How did you know my name?” You sip on your hot chocolate and he smiles.

 

“Your calculator. It has a name tag.”

 

“Nice. Oh, before I forget, I hope you and Steve will finally meet. I have a big feeling that you had a rough fight, I mean just like what you said.”

 

He could only chuckle and ruffle your hair as he nods in hope. After few minutes, you finally arrived at the airport. You paid for the fare and Bucky waits for you.

 

“Also, before I forget all of these,” you look around to check if there are hideous agents strolling around outside the airport. “I only have two conditions for you to promise.”

 

It’s already four-ten in the morning, and the chill breeze is slowly decreasing your hot chocolate’s temperature. Bucky lowers his gaze to look into your eyes straight. “I’ll listen.”

 

“Please live peacefully in Romania. You chose that place because I think it makes you happy. Don’t get involve in fights, okay? Anyway, you control your bionic arm which has abilities and something inside you—that other kind of dimension sense that sends you a hint of danger…yes, whatever random words I said.

 

“Second and lastly, as soon as you board inside the airplane, forget that I exist. Forget that someone helped you escape here. Forget me.”

 

Hearing the last condition made Bucky’s shoulders falter. “And what if I can’t do the last condition?”

 

“You need to do that.”

 

He turns himself away from you but halts after several steps. You silently cursed at him for delaying the things so bad, but after looking up, you’re begging to take those words back.

 

He’s standing right in front of you, so close that his height has loomed over you. His hair is flawlessly swaying from the direction of the breeze, offering such a clear sight of his features. You know that Steve Rogers is the lovely cup of your tea, but Bucky Barnes is really something else.  “I think I can do the second condition, in one condition.”

 

You look like you crane your head just to see him face to face. “Bucky you have to book for your flight now! For what? And that is?”

 

He leans and cupped your face and close his eyes, and you feel the gentle press of his lips on your forehead. “Thank you, Y/N. I think I can do the first condition, but it’s too impossible for the second one. Take care always.” He whispers in your ear and engulfs you in a hug.

 

It took you several minutes to recover from shock and as you snap back to reality, Bucky has successfully booked a flight as he was already queuing for his boarding pass.

 

You may never get to bid him farewell, but at least, he got something really memorable for you.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! it's my first ever work related to marvel and i hope you'll like it :D i have no certain favorite mcu character since it varies from any moment of time haha


End file.
